Grandma’s Silver Spoon

I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. In fact, when I was growing up, I often heard adults say that I had a difficult childhood. I somehow understood what they were saying to be true, but heck, it was all I knew. When I first told David, my partner of nearly 20 years, about my tumultuous upbringing, he was shocked. You see, my emotionally volatile mother, whom I loved dearly, was seemingly strong on the outside but fragile inside. My father, who was legally blind, was severely limited in his ability to play the role of dad as I longed for it to be played. Both of them had hot tempers that often led to loud and sometimes physical confrontations. When I was seven, they separated, and they divorced soon after. Much of the rest of my childhood was spent consoling my mother, helping her find happiness not only in her own life but in mine. My father, meanwhile, depended on me to take care of him. I learned to do his shopping, make his meals, clean his house, pay his bills, and balance his checkbook by the age of nine. In many ways, the roles of parents and child were sadly reversed. Finally, when I was 14 and life with my mother and her third husband in their horribly tension-filled household became unbearable, I left.

But there was one person I could always depend on to be there for me: my beloved grandmother. She didn’t need me to give her emotional support or take care of her. She just needed me to be her grandson and accept her unconditional love.

I have countless memories of her. She cut a fine figure, had tightly curled hair, and always wore stockings and a dress–usually one that she’d sewn herself. She’d never go out in public unless she looked just right. She was a lady—a very independent lady—who was as comfortable moving a heavy piece of furniture or hammering a nail as she was making a cake from scratch.

My most vivid recollections of her are in the kitchen. Oddly, I don’t remember her cooking; it’s possible she wasn’t very good. But her baking was incredible. And there were three necessary components to everything she made—her big brown crock; her wooden spoon; and her scratched, misshapen silver spoon, which I cherish to this day. I remember seeing that spoon in every kitchen my grandmother ever baked in. It was like a constant friend or a favorite family member.

I remember Grandma baking bread and scooping the flour with her silver spoon. I’d sit in the kitchen, watching her mixing all the ingredients, and wait for the bread to rise. The process fascinated me, and once the loaf went in the oven the smell of it baking was pure comfort to me. I sat on pins and needles anxious for the warm slice of bread with butter that would soon be mine. And at Christmastime she’d bake me a special sweet treat by shaping the same dough into rolls and studding them with colorful candied fruit.

Then there were the times she’d bake a cake. She’d sit with her big crock on her lap, beating the batter inside with her silver spoon. After she’d poured the batter into the pan, there was always, miraculously, just enough left for me to “test” with the spoon. That spoon was so thin and beat up it was amazing that I didn’t cut myself. But just as my grandmother expertly wielded it, so I learned to masterfully maneuver it.

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I recently happened upon her recipe for raisin pudding—a dessert she made all the time—written in her own hand. I’m not sure if I should call it a recipe, though, because it includes only the ingredients. It doesn’t say what size pan to bake it in or what temperature to set the oven to. Maybe we were destined to guess, or maybe just expected to know. I later found the same recipe, entitled “Grandma’s Raisin Pudding,” in my mother’s handwriting. Her version includes the missing pieces. It says to drop the flour-and-sugar mixture into the syrup with a “teaspoon,” which makes me chuckle because I know the “teaspoon” referred to is Grandma’s old silver spoon that I watched her use every time she made this dessert. She’d scoop it into the wet batter and then drop it into the waiting hot syrup without bothering to shape the individual puddings. But once they emerged from the oven, they were almost perfectly round biscuits sitting atop the most delicious river of thick, rich syrup. In my child’s mind, her spoon had special powers. It could take blobs of dough and shape them into impeccable biscuits. It’s one of my very favorite memories of her.

According to my grandmother, the spoon was handed down from her mother’s mother. It supposedly originated in England, but that part has always seemed suspect to me since it’s rather a grand origin for something owned by our humble family. As a child, I simply couldn’t fathom how anything could be so old, so ancient.

When my grandmother passed on, the old spoon was handed down to me. It remains one of my greatest treasures. So far from glamorous, yet beautiful to me, it rests comfortably among our set of perfect silverware. It’s this spoon that I pull out anytime I want to try a new recipe or make a beautiful meal for David or just sense that I might need some extra support in the kitchen. Is it my lucky spoon? I can’t answer that. But I can say that I go into a panic when I want to cook something special and can’t find it. Somehow I feel I need it to achieve even the slightest success in the kitchen.

Maybe it’s a crutch, or maybe it’s just a piece of metal that evokes wonderful memories of me and my grandmother in the kitchen. It doesn’t really matter, as I can’t promise a decent meal without it.
This essay has been updated. Originally published December 20, 2012.

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About The One

The One, a real estate broker in Manhattan, has been with David for almost 20 years. (As David likes to say, that's 39 in straight years.) Despite what many of you probably think, it's actually The One who does most of the cooking during the week. He prefers Manhattan while David enjoys the country, so they have a Green Acre-type relationship. The One is Eva Gabor to David's Eddie Albert—without the dresses and diamonds, of course.

Comments

One of the most charming stories I’ve read in eons. Can’t say that we have a silver spoon to use in our cooking, but we’ve managed to hang in there for 25 years–I’m not sure how many that is in straight years, all I know is I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

Loved this story when you first posted it and it’s still as relevant and poignant as before. I’m wondering if The One has figured out the recipe yet or is he still “working” on it? Would love to try it here as I KNOW my “The One” would love it. He’s NUTS about raisins in anything!

Thanks for your very kind offer! The spoon is all scratched and worn on the back as well – so there is no marking. However, its origin really doesn’t matter to me – the memories are all that is important.

I don’t have a family silver spoon that I turn to, but I do collect vintage silver serving pieces that I keep within arms reach of the stove. As I use them in food preparation I think of all the incredible dishes they’ve likely been part of, with all sorts of families, from all sorts of places.

The old pieces bring character to my recently remodeled kitchen, and hopefully to my food.

We live in a small town in Central Florida, Eustis. You may be familiar with the next town over, Mount Dora. GREAT place. Looks like someone took a chunk of New England and plopped it down in the middle of Florida. Himself and I have been here since 2006. Grew tired of the congestion of Ft. Lauderdale / Miami.

We’re not terribly far from Erin and Robie as a matter of fact. We got together two or so years ago. It was such fun. Shoot me over your email address and I’ll send you a photo we took that day.

I loved this heartwarming story. I was born when my father was 52 and never got to meet any of my grandparents. But out of 7 of his siblings I got to meet 2 when I was 18. His younger sister, Leona because such an important part of my life and I have a few of her things and they mean the world to me. Your story of your grandmother encourages me to want to be like her to my grandchildren. Thank you so much for sharing.

Thanks sooooo much! It sounds like Leona and my grandmother share similar places in our hearts. We’re so fortunate to have those special people in our lives. And, I have a feeling you are already creating wonderful memories for and with your grandchildren.

I wish I had my Grandmother’s wood fork that she used when turning her perfect fried chicken. The tips of the tines were burned black but, boy oh boy..I am sure if I had that fork, I’d make fried chicken as good as she did!

Your Grandmother’s recipe appears to be a recipe for Poor Man’s Pudding (fancied up with raisins) or Pudding Chomeur. I’ve made it and it’s delicious. Probably not as good as your Gram’s cuz I didn’t have that silver spoon…

In the piece I also mention a crock that my grandmother had. The crock ended up with my aunt and when she died it ended up going to a thrift shop. Someone bought it before it was able to be retrieved. I was so sad – so I can relate to your desire to have your grandmother’s wood fork.

It’s so interesting that you say the recipe could be for “Poor Man’s Pudding”. Along with my mother’s version I also found one that my aunt wrote that called it Poor Man’s Pudding. I am going to compare all the recipes over the holiday and see what I can come up with.

I made the recipe the first time when it was featured and demo’d by Amanda Hesser from a contest on Food52. It was for Pudding Chomeur (a Canadian speciality), which differs from Poor Man’s Pudding by using maple syrup and heavy cream for the sauce instead of water and brown sugar. I did an internet search when I found that recipe and sure enough, there a a lot of very similar recipes under both names, out there.

This is a fascinating development. Suddenly The One has his own voice and even a photo. He left a comment and now he’s coming into his own as a real person with a voice. I like it!

David, we should talk about this for my blog, don’t you think?

The One, your grandmother saved you. Studies of difficult childhoods show that if there is one person outside the home who treats you well, you will turn out okay. It explains why other kids in the same circumstances don’t do as well.

Thanks for offering your readers a vision into your life. You are vulnerable when you do something like that. It takes courage and strength to be so open. You have come thru it well. The scars might remain, but, they have healed over and you have moved on.

Also, thanks for the only slightly obscured view of The One. Lucky man. David! Was it you, David, or someone else who used the term, “Sex on legs”? I hope I am not offending.

When David asked me to do the piece on the spoon – I think because he knows how much I depend on it – I thought it would be light and fun, not the piece you read. But when I started writing it almost became a confession of sorts, and just seemed right. I don’t think it would have had the same meaning if I hadn’t given a bit of my history. And you’re right – I have moved on.

I’m afraid this has left me a little misty and a little envious. I also had a tricky childhood with a mother, whose parenting skills left much to be desired, and an absent father but, sadly, no loving grandmother to pick up the slack. We lived with my aged grandmother who directed all her attention to my mother and didn’t bother to disguise the fact that she didn’t like me much.

She wasn’t much of a cook either, but I do remember with great fondness her potato scones–they were brilliant. Sadly, no-one thought to get the recipe from her before she died–I’ve been trying to replicate them for years.

Somehow I feel a kindred spirit with you. As I’ve gone through life (probably because of my childhood)I have always been keenly aware of how parent’s treat their children. Many are so mean and neglectful, and in my opinion shouldn’t be parents. But they are and we can’t control that – but what we can do is take what we’ve learned from the neglect we have experienced and try to grow ourselves. And if we’re lucky be able to show a self-less, loving, and kind spirit to others – especially children.

Thanks for sharing such a beautiful memory. It brought to mind memories of my grandmother, and a very special bowl I have of hers that she would fill with freshly-picked juicy red strawberries from her garden. Me and my brother would sit on her porch in the shade on hot summer afternoons and devour them. How lucky we are to have such memories of these special people.

I love the vision I have of you and your brother eating the strawberries from your grandmother’s very special bowl. I bet our grandmother’s never knew how such a simple object and event could leave such a lasting impression on a young mind. If your grandmother is still around – you must tell her so,

The One –
I’m so glad you have a remembrance of your wonderful Grandmother. I have my Grannie’s metal bread bowl & stick she used when doing the laundry for her 5 children. They’re some of my favorite treasures, which I’ll pass on to my nieces.

I love your story – I remember my grandmother used to starch her sheets and then put them in the refrigerator before ironing them. I also remember the old wringer washing machine. I hope your grandmother progressed to the wringer machine.

I, too, am lucky to have a ‘silver spoon’. But mine is a green pebbly juice glass. My joy and skill in the kitchen came from my Grandma. It completely skipped a generation (my Mom) and came directly to me via my Grandma. I never remember her using, or even owning, a measuring cup. That juice glass was it, and was present every time she (we) baked. Even when I got older and asked her to write down her recipes, the measurement used was ‘the juice glass’ (ie. 1/2 a glass of oil, etc.). I am a chef and caterer now, and everytime I step into a kitchen I take my Grandma with me. And my precious green pebbly juice glass is sitting at home, waiting for me to grab it and get to making something delicious. And I know my Grandma, who’s been gone for (gulp) 15 years now, is watching and smiling.

This post has so touched my heart. I’ve also enjoyed the comments almost as much as the story of the spoon itself. For me, it has always been those pieces that our loved ones used and cherished that mean so much to me. Much more than the antique china, silver, and crystal, the every day implements that they touched and worked with carry their spirit. Your grandmother’s spoon reminded me of my Uncle Clayton’s crock and cup. My uncle was widowed in the mid-60’s. He had been devoted to his wife all his life and her death nearly crushed him. He remained single for the rest of his life and though he was a very wealthy man, he was very frugal. Typical of that war-time generation, I suppose. When he died a few years ago, I was asked if there was anything of his that I’d like to have. I chose an old crock, probably from the 1930’s, along with the chipped and broken china cup that was still inside it. It was the crock where he always kept the flour and the old cup, which most anyone else would have discarded, was for dipping the flour. I’m quite sure all the family thought I was crazy, but that crock and cup so perfectly represented just who he was.

I hope that you will always continue to use and cherish your grandmother’s spoon. Holiday blessings to you and dear, David.

Thank you for sharing your story of Uncle Clayton. It sounds as though he was a very special man, and I have a feeling you were a very special niece to him. I applaud you for chosing such a simple object of his that I can tell is probably one of your most treasured possesions. It’s a beautiful story.

As a bit of an aside – this is the first piece I have ever written for the public and I can’t tell you how much all the comments and stories like yours have meant to me. It has been very rewarding.

What a wonderful story and I am so glad you got to spend time with your grandmother to create such wonderful memories. My memories are so similiar with Vavo’s Rice Pudding. She would very carefully pick out all the blemished pieces of rice even before her production began. She didn’t have a favorite spoon, but he had the “Rice Pudding Bowl” that went with her everywhere. I am so glad to have memories of grandparents, as they are so very special people who help mold our lives. Thank you for sharing “The One”.

Thank you for sharing this beautiful life story with us, Grandma’s Silver Spoon. I admire the tender heart from which this story came—so open, so genuine and so sincere.

Your childhood sounds identical to mine as I, too, went to live with my grandmother—actually, grandparents. My grandmother was not independent, but very dependent. It was my Papa who was my rock. Both grandparents provided the unconditional love I so desperately needed from a parental unit. (Parents fought, divorced, etc. and were very poor at parenting. Home should always be a safe place for children. However, it is unfortunate that all too often it is not.)

Grandma Gigi was a decent cook, but she really shined as a baker by baking the many German-Hungarian recipes handed down in our family over the generations. She tells the story of the recipes coming from a professional baker who baked for royalty in the “old country”. (Cannot verify this and wonder if it was a figment of her imagination creating a fond fantasy for me. Many of the recipes I have never seen published in cookbooks or magazines and I have looked!) The recipes are my treasured heirlooms. I, too, treasure the recipes written in my Grandma Gigi’s hand.

Once again, thank you for sharing this enchanting story of a silver spoon with special “magical powers.” I imagine that since the spoon was inseparable from her as she baked, she felt the very same connections to the spoon and its past that you have today. :)

Thank YOU for sharing your story – I greatly appreciate it. It sure sounds like we went down similar paths – even to the point of the “fantastical stories” that were told to us. My grandmother too had stories that sometimes seemed a bit grand. In addition to the spoon origin she told the story of the time Eleanor Roosevelt stopped by for lunch at her house. Neither I nor my mother could quite imagine how that would have happened. But none the less the story was interesting and often repeated.

Thank you for your sweet reply. We truly went down similar paths. I love the fact that you experienced “fantastical stories” from your grandmother as well. The “Eleanor Roosevelt stopping by for lunch at her house” story is just too precious for words! Bless her heart — whether true or not. :)

Wanted to share with you my thoughts on Dianne Jacob’s comment above. She is spot on regarding the studies and her comment resonated with me. Immediately, my thoughts went to the late Truman Capote. As most know, his aunt raised him as he had a troubled childhood. In fact, he identified, on a certain level, with the real-life characters in his most famous work, In Cold Blood. As his character (deftly played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) aptly observed and expressed, in the film, Capote, he walked out the front door and they walked out the back door (tragically). Here’s to children finding much needed love from at least one adult in their lives so they walk out the front door into adulthood.

Out of sadness joy. Thank you for sharing such a touching, personal, sad yet wonderful story. One with a happy ending, thanks to your grandma. No wonder you hold onto that spoon – it holds the innocence and fragile joy of childhood, something that it seems you only experienced sitting in your grandma’s kitchen watching her as she baked. There is something magical in that. I can indeed imagine that with this spoon in your hand and a recipe or two of hers in front of you, the smells and tastes and sounds of those moments with her in her kitchen come flooding back. (I have to say that your bio makes me laugh. I always said that JP and I are living the Green Acres life. Sending you and David a virtual hug.)

I love your words – “holds the innocence and fragile joy of childhood” – you hit the nail on the head beautifully. I have used the spoon quite a bit during the holidays. Somehow since the piece it is even more precious to me – maybe it is just that I am thinking of my grandmother more.

What a wonderful tale of family. I too have my Grandmother’s silver spoon, which I also cherish. She too was a wonderful baker and made the best apple pie; I have yet to find something as good.
Her crust with lard was outstanding. The apples were from a green apple tree in the yard and I cannot find that variety anywhere to grow my own.

Would love to see the raisin pudding recipe, to see if it is the same as my Mother’s, which I do not have a recipe for. She usually did things from her head. Some recipes that she scribbled on scraps of tablet paper were also not very exact, as they would state things like a “handful of this” or a “sifter of that.” Difficult to duplicate exactly.

Oh such fond memories to keep them in our hearts. Thank you for sharing.

Thank you so much for all your trouble. I really appreciate it. Raisins were a large part of my Mother’s recipes. She also made a raisin filled cookie that do not turn out correctly from her written recipe. Everyone in my family that made them is now passed on and I have no way to recover these recipes.

I love stories that resonate and yours did. I don’t have spoons though I do have a Kitchen Aid mixer that is at least 40 years old. When my grandma died I was the lucky recipient. Being a small person I’m not sure how she lifted it. For years I kept it in my garage as I had no counter space until one day I took it out and decided to see if it still worked. With the motor on the dust came flying but after I cleaned the kitchen I made whatever it is I made that day. Years later the Kitchen Aid has ended up swirling off the counter onto the tile floor and still kept spinning. It is a monster that keeps on giving. Every time I use it I think of my little Grandma Fanny and realize that what she gave me was the ability to keep going-through the thick and the thin. Just like that Kitchen Aid. Unfortunately, I still have that two inch dent in the tile floor…

Yours is a WONDERFUL story, and I must say I chuckled with the visual of the sheer size of the mixer and its journey to the floor! I am 55 years old and didn’t even know they made Kitchen-Aid mixers that far back. FYI—the dent in the floor is just another gift from Grandma. LOL.

I love this story so much. My great-grandmother didn’t have a special item, but a recipe. Nana’s pound cake was absolutely divine. Sweet without being too sugary, light but dense, just magical. Anytime I was at her house, I can always remember dinner being cooked, and never the cake. Like it just appeared, warm and sliced in front of me. At a family reunion everyone was given the family cookbook containing all the most treasured family recipes they could gather at the time.

As a little girl, I stayed up late, going over every page, clipping paperclips to each of my favorites, when I realized I had reached the end and never found Nana’s recipe. I asked my aunts and uncles, and they all told me the same thing. “We’ve all been asking Nana for it since we were your age. And we still don’t know.” I ran to her and asked her if she could teach me. She looked down and smiled and told me to come back in a few hours. So I waited, I washed my hands 3 or 4 times, and came back. She just pulled out a chair for me, and started cooking without a word. I can’t remember how many times I watched her make that cake. I always missed one step here, one ingredient there, and if I missed it she chuckled and said ‘better luck next time’

Finally, a few years ago, my aunt got permission to write it down. She had learned it by watching Nana as a child herself, but swore never to write it down. And on a family trip, I was entrusted with making it. I lost sleep the night before making the cake, I was so scared. And the planets aligned that warm summer afternoon. I knew I did it right, because Nana’s smile was so big and beautiful. I feel so lucky to be one of 3 people in my family to know the recipe. I’m practicing it often, in the hopes that one day I too, can throw away the paper and make it JUST like my Nana did.

Thank you for bringin back wonderful memories and sharing your story, The One.

What a wonderful, wonderful story. I love the anticipation you had about eating the cake and then learning to make it. I could feel the warmth and love you have for your great-grandmother, and certainly the deliciousness of the cake. It definitely made my mouth water for a piece. Sounds like Nana is a sly one too–love it. You must carry on the legacy.

Hi David, What a tremendous story! Beautiful. It’s amazing how our life experiences, good or bad shape us into who we are and take us down the path we’re destined for. I met you at the first annual FBC conference in Hockley Valley, Ontario. I was so thrilled to meet you, even though I really didn’t know much about you and had only enough time to glance through your site to familiarize myself with the guest speakers. But I could sense your creativity, sensitivity, geneous spirit and joie de vivre. It was great meeting you. Your writing is very inspiring. I just love reading your postings and articles. All the very best to you and The One. I hope we will meet again.

What a great story! I’m glad you got what you needed from your grandmother and can even hold it in your hand in the form of that spoon.

It makes me think of my great grandmother’s and great aunt’s table. They were not prosperous but they came from French fur trappers who migrated down to Maine. We lived in New York and could only visit them in the Summer.

On their table they had a jar of spoons. They were very ordinary, every day spoons but they must have been silver. From when and where I’m not sure but over the generations of daily use they had worn down so that they were no longer bowl- but spade-shaped with one long side and one short side as lips had worn them down.

I don’t know what happened to that jar of spoons. I suppose some one of the antique dealers who made routine calls to see if there was anything being sold ended up with them. But they’ll never have the precious memories that should accompany them. Those I’ll always have so I can really appreciate how fortunate you are to have your grandmother’s spoon!

How wonderful! For me, it’s my mother’s two-tined fork. She’s long gone now, but every time I use it, it makes me smile and remember her. It’s bent and mangled from use, but she turned out some pretty great meals with it. Thanks for the walk down memory lane…and keep cherishing that spoon.

I love this story. My grandmothers were the anchors of my childhood, so I always love hearing other people’s positive grandmother stories. I’m glad you got the spoon, TO. Nobody thought to give me anything after my grandmothers died. But oh do I have the memories!

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